


How I Met Your Father

by MarzgaPerez



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Aged Up Yev, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Coming Out, Endgame Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Family Issues, Father-Son Relationship, I don’t know how to tag this, M/M, May/December Relationship, Past Drug Use, Past Lives, Weird Plot Shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-01-15 07:26:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18494173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarzgaPerez/pseuds/MarzgaPerez
Summary: Alternate Universe where Yev is nineteen and attending college. Ian is a librarian at his school, where they meet for the first time. Both Ian and Yev’s father (Mickey), grew up on the South Side of Chicago, but their paths rarely crossed.Yev brings them together in a very unique canon divergent way. Going for endgame Gallavich.





	1. Yev

Yevgeny AleksandrMilkovich, aka Yev, spent a lot of time in the library. It was a quiet place to escape the antics of his suite-mates, several of whom were in a fraternity and obnoxiously drunk half the time.

Befriending said frat bros had its advantages—the booze flowethed freely. And the fuckheads had actually been cool when they found out Yev was gay, even throwing a few Playgirls into the bathroom supply of spank bank material.

They seemed more disturbed by his socioeconomic status—Chicago South Side trash—than who he was banging. Yev had the swagger of someone from a very well-to-do family, but to maintain his scholarship, he had to work two jobs and keep his grades up. When Yev did have time to spare, he’d go out for a meal or to the movies or to one of the off-campus frat parties. His friends would usually take pity on him and pay his way. Otherwise, it was grounds maintenance on Saturday mornings, janitorial duties three times a week in the academic buildings, and constant studying.

The library ended up being a safe haven, a respite. There was something comforting about finding a vacant table in the stacks, plowing through his assignments, and then finding a well-worn, pages tattered 1st edition of any kind to peruse. Even though information was readily available via the internet, books contained unalterable information—facts or fiction or poetry—inspired by some of life’s greatest tragedies or some of the simplest things, like a leaf falling from its branch.

That’s how Yev met Mr. Gallagher. _Ian._  The Circulation Coordinator, aka, librarian extraordinaire. There had been something between them the very first time Yev had asked for help locating a book. A connection, a spark.

Ian was tall with fiery red hair, green eyes, and alabaster skin, dusted lightly with freckles. Yev figured he was probably old enough to be his father. Still, Ian had a youthfulness about him. _Good genes_ , as his _мама_ would say. Or maybe it was the untucked polo shirt and faded jeans that he usually had on, quite the contrast to what most librarians looked like.

Ian had helped him locate a book of 20th-century Russian poetry, raising one eyebrow when he’d made the inquiry. Yev laughed and explained that his mother was Russian, and she’d taught him how to read the language.

Poetry was his minor—that was the deal he’d made with his parents. They so rarely agreed on anything, having divorced when Yev was two, but they insisted he pick a major like Computer Science or Business. They both had entrepreneurial spirits and a history of shady business dealings, eventually opting for more subdued careers—his _мама_ a bartender and his father a mechanic.

Between scholarships and scraping together what they could, they’d sent him to a private religious boarding school, beginning in 10th grade, where students prayed by day and fornicated by night. Yev had his first blow job at 15 and then a slew of other guys he’d experimented with. His mother knew he was gay, she herself in a steady relationship with a woman, but he hadn’t dared discuss his sexuality with his dad. That would be incredibly awkward. Worse yet, if his grandfather—bigoted, never-gonna-kick-the-bucket Terry Milkovich—found out, Yev would be banned from the South Side for life.

Not that he would have minded. The friends he’d made before going to boarding school had either forgotten about him or resented him. And having performed well academically in high school, Yev had been given the golden ticket out of the slums with his collegiate scholarship—he wasn’t true South Side anymore. Yet to his college friends, he was a hoodrat.

That’s why he enjoyed being in the company of adults. And Ian, well, Ian just saw him as a person.

After their initial encounter, Yev made a point of stopping by the Circulation desk to say hello each time he spotted Ian working. One evening, Ian was about to go on break, and Yev boldly invited himself along, accompanying him to grab a coffee from the Starbucks cart inside the entrance to the library. They’d sat at a table for two and chatted about their lives. Ian was easy to talk to.

Yev discovered that Ian was also South Side and that he’d “escaped” by going away to military school as a teenager and later, college. Yev didn’t ask, and Ian didn’t volunteer why he’d never enlisted in the military or pursued a military career. He alluded to the fact that he didn’t want to deal with the “don’t ask, don’t tell” bullshit of that era.

Ian too, had a love of books that had eventually landed him a job in the library. Yes, it was incredibly boring and predictable, but it allowed him the opportunity to hopefully inspire a younger generation not to give up on the printed word. He admitted to spending most of his days helping students navigate the online research portal and wondered how libraries in general had survived as long as they had.

Even though there was a mild flirtation that Yev perceived between them, he didn’t think his friendship with Ian would ever turn into anything more. Ian wore a wedding band and spoke once or twice about his spouse, a firefighter.

It was soon after the start of spring semester that Yev noticed the wedding ring was gone. He didn’t dare ask about it. Yev assumed something had happened over the winter break. To him, Ian seemed mildly depressed, and looking back, Yev supposed to some extent, he had taken advantage of the situation.

Maybe he, too, was in need of some companionship. Yev found himself daydreaming about being with Ian sexually. Ian was someone he could relate to, someone he trusted, and fuck, someone who was totally hot in a quiet, unassuming way.

It was sometime in early March that Yev decided to make a move. He waited until Ian had finished his shift before he packed up his books and joined him on the walk to his car. Ian, as he sometimes did, offered Yev a ride back to his dorm, probably expecting him to decline as usual. But this time was different. Yev said yes.

Once they were inside Ian’s moderate sedan, Yev coyly suggested they go for a drink. Ian had stammered back a reply. “Yev...uh...you’re not old enough. I’m not gonna enable that type of behavior.”

“I’m nineteen, and I started drinking when I was thirteen,” Yev had huffed back. “Besides, I only suggested a drink so we could hang out a little longer.”

“Hang out?”

“Yeah. Let’s go to your place.”

“M-my place?” Ian hadn’t started the car yet. His hands gripped the steering wheel. He turned to Yev. “Are you suggesting…”

Yev moved closer to Ian, putting one hand on his shoulder and the other atop his hand on the steering wheel. “Yeah. I am. You’re fuckin’ hot.”

Ian gazed back at him, perhaps shocked into silence. Without warning, he let out a deep belly laugh but stifled it as soon as he saw Yev’s reaction.

“Well, fuck you!” Yev jerked his hands away and pulled on the handle of the passenger door furiously. He was too humiliated to think straight and couldn’t find the unlock button. 

Yev felt Ian’s strong fingers on his arms and shoulders and the soothing tone of his voice. “Hey...hey! Yev...I wasn’t laughing at you. Yev...will you look at me?”

 _Fuck it._ Ian sounded so nice, so caring. Yev released the handle and stilled his body, but he refused to make eye contact with Ian. “What?”

Ian sighed. “I’m sorry. I thought you were fucking with me. Pulling a prank or some shit.” 

Yev sensed the vulnerability in his voice, and it made him want Ian even more.

“My husband and I ended things a few months ago, and I’m not feeling very...desirable.” Ian continued. “He cheated on me...with a much younger guy, and now...here you are, a much younger guy, hitting on me. As a matter of fact, I’m still not convinced—”

Yev lunged at Ian, practically pinning him against the door, moving his lips over Ian’s, hoping for some type of response that didn’t involve Ian shoving him back into his seat and kicking him out of the car.

Ian’s arm’s were stiff at his sides, his lips motionless. Yev started to pull away, then he felt Ian kissing him back and his hands trailing along his sides until Ian had his arms around him.

Ian was a good kisser, his lips firm against Yev’s, his tongue dancing inside of Yev’s mouth. Yev felt like his body was on fire. He needed to be inside of Ian. He wanted to fuck away any doubts that Ian was harboring because of his shitty ex.

“So,” Yev panted in his ear. “Your place?”

After that night, they started spending a few nights together each week, and Yev practically lived at Ian’s place over spring break. Both of them denied wanting anything serious, but they couldn’t seem to get enough of each other. They said all the things that lovers say. Ian complemented Yev on his lean, muscular body. He told Yev how much he admired his persistence and intellect. Yev revealed to Ian how glad he was to be with an experienced and mature lover—not some closeted twink who didn’t have a clue about what he liked. 

Yev had to be careful with that one though. Ian hated the idea of anyone thinking—including Yev—that he was some sort of lecherous predator who chased after younger men. He swore up and down on multiple occasions that in his fifteen some odd years with the University, he’d never, not once had a relationship with a student. Yev had told him to calm the fuck down. He was the one who’d propositioned Ian, and they could stop at anytime—no questions asked.

After several weeks of whatever it was they had—or didn’t have—the relationship seemed to be coming to its natural conclusion. The sex was great, and Ian was an adequate bottom, though he had acknowledged that was not his preference. But they couldn’t really go out together or socialize with each other’s friends. Yev didn’t have time to put any effort into a relationship, and he figured Ian had seen him as more of a welcome distraction while his divorce was pending.

It had become sort of depressing to spend time at Ian’s place when they weren’t fucking. Ian still had too many mementos from his failed marriage scattered about the townhouse they’d shared—furniture they’d acquired together, paintings, and books. In a way, Ian’s lonely existence reminded Yev of what it was like to visit his father’s place.

His father had never remarried, and information about his love life was never volunteered—nor did Yev ask. Growing up, he’d only stay at his dad’s place every other weekend and just for a few holidays once he’d started boarding school. If his dad was seeing anyone, he kept it private. His _мама_ referred to her ex-husband as a _Говносос_ but that didn’t mean anything. She said that about most men.

Once being with Ian started to feel heavy, Yev was pretty much done and in need of a way out. How to break it to him? Turns out, he wouldn’t have to. His father would take care of that for him.

It was a Saturday. Yev had the morning off. He’d spent the night with Ian and hoped to have “the talk” over breakfast. Ian had made them pancakes and given Yev a book of Eastern European poetry he’d found in a used bookstore downtown.

Maybe Yev could talk to him later in the day. Now wasn’t the right time. He had to end this in a way that he wouldn’t have to avoid Ian every time he wanted to use the library.

Ian must have sensed something was awry. He kept massaging Yev’s shoulders as if trying to entice him to stay longer. Yev smiled politely and reminded Ian that he’d promised to take him back to the library so he could finish a paper. “And you’re scheduled to be there today, right?”

“Yep. I am. Finish your breakfast, and we’ll go.” Ian’s face turned bright red. “I mean, if you want to finish it. God, I just sounded like someone’s dad again, didn’t I?”

“Uh-huh,” agreed Yev as he stuffed half a pancake into his mouth and chugged the rest of his orange juice. He got up from the table to take his plate over to the sink. “Thanks for breakfast. You were right though. I did need a home-cooked meal.”

They rode back to campus in silence, and Ian kindly dropped Yev off in front of the library. Because it was early and very few people were walking around campus, Yev made a point to jog over to the driver’s side and tap on the glass.

Ian lowered the window and looked around cautiously for any students or staff walking by. “What’s up?”  he asked.

“Nothing. Just...thanks for the book. And you know, everything.” Yev bent down to kiss him quickly on the lips. “Can we talk later?”

“Sure. Of course. Good luck with your paper. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be in there in a few.” 

Yev watched Ian drive away toward the parking lot, shifting his backpack onto his shoulders and making his way inside the library. He went up to the second floor to his favorite nook—a smallish table stashed away in a corner. It was close enough to the atrium where he’d discovered he could get Ian’s attention if he needed a break. Yev would stand against the railing and clear his throat. It worked as long as Ian wasn’t in his office with the door closed, in which case, Yev would text him.

 _Guess we won’t be doing that anymore,_ thought Yev.

He got his laptop out as well as his notebook, which contained the instructions for his assignment. _Write a 4 page paper about a marginalized group using the concepts from Chapter 3 of your text._ Sociology. Yev would be glad to have his basic requirements under his belt so he could delve into the classes he really wanted to take.

He was a few minutes into some online research when he heard a loud voice reverberating throughout the atrium. It was probably a wrecked freshman pledge trying to score points with his future fraternity brothers by making a public nuisance out of himself.

Yev was fairly certain he heard Ian trying to calm the individual—to no avail—and he realized this probably wasn’t a prank after all. Could Ian be in danger? Yev got up from his chair and dashed down the steps, not wasting time at the balcony to see what the altercation was all about.

He wished he had. Then maybe he would have tried to sneak out or at least wait for an opportunity to make a run for it.

Standing in front of the Circulation desk, waving his arms wildly in the air, and shouting profanities at Ian, was his father, Mickey Milkovich.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to azuresky18 for the words of encouragement with this AU fic!


	2. Ian

It was as surreal as anything Ian had experienced in awhile. He generally tried to avoid conflict as much as possible, having dealt with enough of it growing up. Now he had stepped right in it.

How the fuck was he gonna talk this man off the ledge—this older, shorter, stockier version of Yevgeny with the same clear-as-day blue eyes and don’t-fuck-with-me swagger? Stranger still, there was something familiar about him—apart from presumably being Yev’s dad—that Ian couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Sir,” he said as calmly as possible, an uncomfortable warmth rising through his chest and neck. How many students were in earshot of this guy and his rantings? Ian could get reprimanded or lose his job altogether. 

The man continued spewing threats. “Fuckin’ pervert! Stay away from my kid, or I’ll kill you!”

“Sir!” Ian tried again. “Please lower your voice!”

Thankfully, the student assistant assigned to the desk that morning was Jenna, a senior. She’d already stepped into Ian’s office and closed the door, probably to call campus security and wait out the lunatic.

Ian was contemplating whether he should leap over the counter and try to physically remove the irate man from the library when he spotted Yev coming towards them, looking absolutely horrified.

“Dad! Be quiet,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “What are you doing here?”

“You know why I’m here!” The older Milkovich got within an inch of his son’s face. “Jesus Christ! Why are you letting this piece of shit touch you?” 

“It’s none of your business. I’m a fuckin’ adult!” Yev retorted.

“Hey!” Ian was half whispering, half shouting. He’d come within a few feet from where Yev and his father were arguing.

Mickey pointed his finger at him. “I swear, if you come any closer, fuckin’ Raggedy Andy…”

“Campus police are on their way.” Ian was somehow managing to stay calm, though he was about to shit himself. “We should all talk. Outside. I can call them off if you promise not to throw any punches.” 

“There's nothing to talk about. Just stay the fuck away from my son!”

Yev moved in between where his father was standing and the path to Ian, for which Ian was grateful, should this man decide to come at him. “Let’s go, Dad! Now! You’re gonna get me kicked outta here.” 

That last statement seemed to bring Yev’s father back to reality. The expression on his face changed from an “eat shit and die” glare to one of sudden remorse, almost embarrassment at the scene he was causing.

“Yeah. Okay. Fine. But you…” He didn’t take his eyes off of Ian as Yev ushered him towards the front of the library. “I’m not done with you.”

^^^^^^^^^^

The richness of the wine coated his throat as he downed a second glass. Ian could have finished the whole bottle after a day like he’d had, but he stopped after two. 

It was close to nine o’clock. He was alone in the townhouse, sniggering to himself about how his ex, Caleb, would have lost his mind over Ian drinking red wine in their pristine living room.

 _Good riddance,_ he thought. _I’m better off alone._

And now he was alone. It was over with Yev—had to be—which Ian was partially disappointed about but mostly relieved.

Getting involved with a nineteen year old, at Ian’s age, was just pathetic. Not that Yev acted like most nineteen year olds, at least, not when they’d been together. He was driven and passionate and intelligent. That was a big part of the reason Ian had let things happen between them...and continue longer than they should have.

And Ian would be lying to himself if he omitted the other reason why he’d stayed with Yev for longer than he should have—Yev was gorgeous.

He had beautiful blue eyes, along with a youthful chiseled face. His hair was a dark blonde or light brown, depending on the light, and longish at the top, so much so, he often wore it pulled back into a slight ponytail, revealing the cropped style around his ears. And there was his body, thin yet sculpted. He maintained his physique through regular jogging and a trip or two to the gym every week.

Ian had rarely bottomed for anyone, but he’d made an exception for Yev. He had been too flattered to insist on anything else. Besides, he’d seen the look on Yev’s face when he’d dipped his hands into Ian’s boxers and come in contact with his cock for the first time. It could be a little much for some. 

He didn’t really blame Yev’s father for being upset about their May/December relationship. Ian would have probably done close to the same, if his kid—girl or boy—was seeing someone that much older. 

God, but how had he found out? Had he been following them?

When Ian had arrived at his complex after work, he was extra cautious, looking all around him when he got out of his car. He walked quickly to his front door and unlocked it as fast as he could. What if that hulk of a shorter man came out of nowhere and jumped him?

But nothing happened, and Ian had taken a relaxing bath and made some pasta. And uncorked a bottle of wine. The perfect evening.  

He’d texted Yev to make sure he was okay. So far, no response. Ian wondered if he should go over to his dorm, trying to recall which floor he lived on.

Now that would be awkward. And what would he say? _Hi, I work at the library. I’m looking for Yevgeny...Yev_...shit, he couldn’t even remember Yev’s last name. 

 _You know, Yev._ _His mother is Russian, and his father is a South Side thug in a grown man’s body._

Ian must have dozed off because his head jerked up at the sound of a loud knock, which he soon determined was coming from his front door. His eyes went immediately to the baseball bat nestled in the corner behind the door—a gift of “home security” from his brother Phillip, or Lip, as they called him. 

Caleb, his ex, had always insisted they keep the bat shoved behind the coats in the hallway closet. When Ian had come upon it a few weeks ago, cleaning, he decided to give it a more worthy and useful place in his home. If that was Yev’s father pounding on the door right now, it would come in handy.    

Ian got up from the sofa and crept over to the door with stealthy, catlike strides, as if it were possible for someone to be watching him through the curtained window while simultaneously pounding on the door. He gripped the thin handle of the bat. “Who is it?” he asked in his most badass voice.

“It’s Yev. Can we talk?” replied the knocker.

“Did you come alone?” Ian realized he was being way more dramatic than necessary, but the wine had given him a slight buzz. It seemed so absurd that he was in this predicament.

“Yes. I called off my goon,” Yev said dryly.

“Okay. Hold on.” Ian rested the bat back into its nook and unlocked the door. He opened it and motioned for Yev to come inside.

Yev’s shoulders were slumped inward, which was unusual for the self-assured young man Ian had come to know. His hair was pulled back into a knot at the base of his neck.

“How’d you get over here?”

“Uber.” 

“You alright?” Ian hugged him loosely, omitting the kiss they usually exchanged. Yev nodded and broke away from Ian’s arms, heading towards the kitchen. “Can I have a beer?” 

“Fine. Might as well add supplying alcohol to a minor to my rap sheet.” Ian went to the fridge to grab two beers, one for each of them.

Yev accepted his and twisted the cap off. “You know, Ian, you’re fuckin’ hilarious. Never cared before when I drank at your place.”

“Yeah...well...forgive me for cracking a joke on the day I get publicly accused of being a pedophile.” Ian popped his bottle cap into the sink and took a swig from his beer. 

“I’m sorry, alright?” Yev practically shouted. “I shouldn’t have ignored my dad’s texts. He came looking for me, and my suite-mates told him to try the library. Guess he saw us when you dropped me off.” Yev shook his head as if he was still in disbelief. “Impeccable timing on his part.”

Ian’s expression softened. “Look, I know it’s not your fault. I, just...I don’t want to lose my job. I know I’m being selfish since I’m the one who…” Instead of finishing his sentence, Ian took another sip of his beer.

Yev stepped closer to him. “The one who...what?”

“You know, I’m the adult here, and I let you...us…happen...” Ian waved his hand between them.

Yev looked taken aback. “The _adult_? So what am I?” His tone was a mix of hurt and anger, and he clanged his half-finished beer on the counter. “Jesus, Ian. I mean, I knew this wasn’t going anywhere, but I thought you at least saw me as an equal.”

“Yev...” Ian walked towards the counter and picked up his beer. “Let’s go in the other room. Finish your beer. I want to explain what I meant. There’s something from my past that’s been bothering me. I have nothing against you. I think very highly of you.”

“Your past?” Yev lifted his eyes.

“Yeah. Can you stay a little longer and talk?”

“Okay.” He sighed. “Sure.”

^^^^^^^^^^

Ian didn’t like to think about that summer after he’d turned eighteen. It wasn’t really a high point in his life, and the more time and distance he put between those memories and his adult self, the better. His older sister Fiona and his brother Lip were vaguely aware of what he decided to do to make money that summer. He needed to save up for his living expenses for college. His siblings could only help him so much, and their deadbeat parents weren’t around to lend any support or guidance. 

Ian didn’t have to do anything he wasn’t comfortable with—technically—although what was the point of working at the _Fairy Tail_ club as a dancer if you weren’t willing to put out for extra tips? And the older the john, the higher the tips.

As Ian was telling Yev about these experiences, he detected a look on his face, like, _Sounds like a shitty gig, but what does it have to do with me?_  

“Most of the guys were in their fifties. A few of them were younger, I guess. Not many my age. Thin, fat, all shapes and sizes. Some were in the closet, some were out, hard up, or just plain horny. I said ‘no’ to most of what they wanted me to do. Nothing beyond lap dances.” Ian paused. “But then I realized I wasn’t making as much money as everyone else. The other dancers would take uppers before their shifts—or anything they could get their hands on—to escape reality. I started doing it too. It all became a blur.” 

Now Yev seemed more sympathetic, listening intently to what he had to say. Ian continued. “They used me. And I let them. I was lucky no one abused me, or hurt me. But I never wanted to become one of them. Twink chasers, perverts...”

Ian grew silent, and Yev moved next to him on the sofa, his mouth agape as he choked out his words. “But...Ian...nobody thinks that about you. My father, he’s just...well, he’s suspicious of everyone. Always has been. And I went after you. Remember? You’ve been good to me. Really...I just…” 

Ian looked at Yev and reached over to place a finger gently on his lips. “Shhhhhh. You don’t have to say anything else. I’m glad I could talk with you about this. I trust you, and I don’t want you doing something stupid like I did. Your father...doesn’t want you doing anything stupid either.” Ian took hold of one of Yev’s hands. “What did he say? Your father?”

Yev was quiet for a minute, possibly still digesting what Ian had confessed, possibly gathering his thoughts, or both. “Well, he knew I was gay. That surprised me. And he wasn’t a dick about it. Said he was just worried about how people might treat me differently...or try to...uh, take advantage.”

Yev cringed as he realized this might be hurtful to Ian, speaking his next words quickly, as if to soften the blow. “But I told him we were friends and that you were kind and supportive and that things weren’t serious between us or anything...because they’re not...right?” 

“Right,” Ian agreed. “I mean, I’d like us to stay friends, but I feel like you need to be with someone who’s more…”

“Yeah, I know...you too...need to be with someone who’s more…”

“Like me. Eventually.” Ian said softly, and Yev gave him a reassuring nod.

“And don’t worry about your job, Ian. I sent an email to the head librarian, got her email from that chick who was working when my dad came in.” 

“Jenna?”

“Yeah, her. And I told her the same thing that I put in my email, that you’ve been helping me do some research and that we’re friends and how my dad misinterpreted things and how—”

“Thanks, Yev. We’ll see. Although I didn’t officially break any rules, what we’ve been doing is generally frowned upon. And…” Ian said with a menacing grin. “There were those times in my office and once or twice in the stacks.”

“Right.” Yev smiled, seemingly remembering the thrills their secret encounters had given them both. “Let’s hope for the best. In the meantime, I have a favor to ask.”

“What is it?” asked Ian.

Yev reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small white business card. “Will you call him?” 

Ian took the card. “Who?” He glanced at the name on it. _Mickey Milkovich, Auto Mechanic._

“My dad. He wants to apologize.” Yev shrugged. “That’s what he told me.”

 _Milkovich...Milkovich...where do I know that name from,_ wondered Ian.

 _Milkovich...Mickey Milkovich!_  

Yev must have noticed the color drain from his face. “I promise he won’t be rude. At least, I’m pretty sure. Ian?” 

“Is this...do you have…” Ian gulped. “Do you know...Mandy Milkovich?”

Yev brightened and looked at Ian curiously. “Yeah. Aunt Mandy. Why?” 

“Fuck!” Ian stood up abruptly from the sofa, the card dropping to the floor as he drew both hands to his head.

Yev jumped up too. “What is it? For fuck’s sake! What?” 

In an attempt to calm down, Ian began taking slow, measured breaths as he paced back and forth in front of the sofa. “Shit...he’s a Milkovich. A goddamn Milkovich! Why didn’t I see it before? Jesus, I’m fucked.”

“What is going on?” Yev was completely confused and starting to look extremely worried.

Ian finally came out of his trance. “Your father tried to kill me once before...when I was fourteen.”

“Wait a second…” Yev’s eyes widened. “You know my dad?!” 

“South Side Mickey Milkovich, right? I know _of_ him. He thought I slept with Mandy. Probably because she told him as much, even though I never even touched her. Mickey and some of his brothers—your uncles—came after me. It was right before I left for military school. I thought I was a dead man. My brother, Lip, took the beating for me.” 

“No fuckin’ way!” Yev was still floored. “But that was more than twenty years ago. So what?”

“So what?” Ian asked incredulously. “I’ve gone and fucked his son! Mickey Milkovich’s son! How do you think he’s going to react when he figures out who I am?”


	3. Mickey

The day started out like most days. Mickey rolled his hungover ass out of bed and checked his phone. No calls yet from the shop. Still no texts from Yev.

There wasn’t anything earth-shattering he wanted to tell Yev—he’d just missed having him around. Yev had spent a week with Mickey at the shop over winter break, helping out with invoices and answering phone calls, but he’d declined his offer to visit during spring break. And then...radio silence. Mickey figured Yev was seeing someone, hoping that it was some puffy-lipped coed and not a dude.

He’d suspected for a while that Yev was gay, even had a private conversation about it with his ex, Lana, whom he tried to avoid as much as possible. Yev had never brought it up, not specifically, but even as clueless as most people considered him to be, Mickey had a way of knowing these things.

Yev was eleven, and at Lana’s insistence, Mickey had sat him down for a chat about the birds and the bees. He felt like a fraud, since it had been years since he’d actually slept with a woman. Thank God for sex ed classes that started in fourth grade—Yev stopped Mickey right before he started getting into graphic detail.

 _I know this stuff already, Dad_ , he’d told him. But then Yev had thrown a curve ball.

_What I want to know is, what if a guy and another guy want to...kiss each other? Or make a baby?_

Fuck, that kid was too intelligent for his own good, having looked at the world, looked at himself and thought about things most kids his age—hell, even some adults—had never considered.

Mickey hadn’t known how to respond. On the one hand, he wanted to tell Yev that if you loved someone, it didn’t matter their gender or religion or the color of their skin. And if you loved someone enough to make a baby with them, anything was possible. He wanted to believe that, had clung desperately to that notion, in spite of never outwardly expressing that part of himself—not to anyone he was close to.

On the other hand, he didn’t want Yev to ever have to face the struggles and uncertainty and self-loathing and potential discrimination from a society that was still not entirely evolved, especially within the inner circle of the Milkovich clan, most notably, his asshole for a father, Terry.

So he said nothing. Or maybe he’d told Yev to ask his mother. That was his usual fallback. And Yev hadn’t brought it up again.

With a few hours to spare that Saturday morning, Mickey decided to drive over to Yev’s dorm and try to track him down. He remembered helping Yev move in at the beginning of his sophomore year, feeling a sense of pride that his son had already completed his first year of school and was on track to become the first Milkovich to graduate college. Much like when he’d helped Yev get settled into his freshman dorm, Yev introduced Mickey to his suitemates without a hint of shame, shame over the fact that his father was obviously working class and not as well-educated as the other parents, or the other mothers, he should say. There weren’t many fathers milling about, and Mickey supposed that was a point in Yev’s favor. His dad had at least shown up.

Mickey made it over to the campus and maneuvered his way around to student housing, finding Yev’s dorm, and banging on the door of his suite. After what seemed like an eternity, some half-dressed groggy, born-with-a-silver-spoon-in-his-mouth dickhead pushed the door open.

“What the fuck do you want?” he’d asked Mickey.

Mickey Milkovich from twenty years ago would have shoved a foot up this preppy kid’s ass and slapped him around until he begged for mercy, just because of his shitty attitude. Instead, he replied curtly, “I’m Yevgeny’s father. Is he around?”

“Oh.” The little shit motioned for Mickey to come inside the darkened hallway, and he pointed towards the room in the back left hand corner. “We didn’t see him come home last night.” He shrugged and padded back towards his door.

“Oh, hey!” Mickey called out. “If he’s not in his room, any idea where he’d be?”

“Try the library.”

^^^^^^^^^^

Yev was not, in fact, in his room. He was getting dropped off in front of the library. And Mickey got to witness Yev leaning into that slimy fucker’s car and sucking face with him.

Mickey tried to calm himself. He really did, taking deep breaths and trying to picture something serene—the ocean, the mountains. He’d figured this moment would come eventually, just not like this, and he certainly never pictured Yev under the influence of some older, manipulative fuck.

And then Mickey spotted the red-headed fucker, walking up the steps of the library, tall and lanky and looking quite cocky about the piece of ass he’d probably just hit—his son. His innocent, impressionable son.

Deep down, Mickey knew that Yev generally made smart decisions and that he didn’t let just anyone into his life. So maybe this wasn’t as bad as it seemed. But once Mickey was inside the library and saw that smug fucker standing behind the counter, there was something about his easy laugh and warm smile that made Mickey’s blood boil. What a fuckin’ prick, pretending to be such an upright contributing member of society when he was boning a damn kid.

Mickey let him have it. Fuck, what did he have to lose? He didn’t have a plan, didn’t need to have a plan, he just needed to let the piece of garbage know he could see right through his bullshit. 

Only he’d embarrassed Yev and could have quite possibly gotten him into trouble. Or maybe campus security would have sequestered Mickey for most of the day until they’d gotten everything worked out, and Mickey had way too much shit to do at the shop.

Plus, he’d seen the way Yev looked at the pale, green-eyed motherfucker, like maybe he gave two shits about the guy. And vice versa. Who was Mickey to stand in the way of...whatever they had between them?

Turns out, as Yev would later divulge over a few cups of coffee at their favorite local dive, Patsy’s Pies, he was not in love with the tall motherfucker after all. Yes, they had been intimate—Yev’s word—but they didn’t have very much in common. Mickey’s unexpected appearance and subsequent outburst had expedited the end of a relationship that was partially on its way to being over anyway—again, Yev’s words.

“So...now you know.” Yev leaned his head back into the booth and sighed. “I’m gay.”

Mickey wasn’t sure whether to tell Yev he mostly already knew or let him think he’d concealed it well. More importantly, he wanted Yev to know he loved him—a sentiment Mickey would never expect to receive from his own father—straight or gay.

“I know, Yev. And I love you,” he said, clasping a hand on top of Yev’s, which he’d been tapping nervously on the table.

“You know?” Yev stared back at his father. “How?”

Mickey cleared his throat. “Your mother.” It was the easiest explanation for the moment. “And Yev, I’m not opposed to it. I just want to caution you about who you can trust and how you need to be careful. I don't want you to have to downplay who you are.”

“But...we can’t tell Grandpa Terry...right?”

“Man, fuck him. I never had the guts to stand up for myself, but I’ll sure as hell stand up for you!”

“But when did you...or, why did you need to stand up to him?” Yev asked curiously.

“Oh, you know. In general. The guy’s a total shitbag.”

“That’s the truth,” agreed the younger Milkovich.

Mickey paid their bill, and they were about to go their separate ways when he handed Yev one of his business cards. “Tell your friend to call me.”

“Wait. What?”

“Yeah, I wanna apologize. I mean, you said he’s good people. I’m gonna explain why I reacted...harsh.”

“Harsh?” Yev grinned. “That’s one way to describe it.”

“Well, if he calls, he calls. If he doesn’t, at least I tried.” Mickey clapped his son on the back. “As long as you and me are okay.”

“We are, Dad. Thanks.”

^^^^^^^^^^

It was a few days later, and as expected, Yev’s grown-ass ex-lover had not called. Mickey was too busy at the shop to think much about it, and another few days went by before he texted Yev.

_Mickey: Are you gonna answer me this time, or do I have to come find you?_

Yev got back to him within the hour.

_Yev: Funny. I’m here. How’s it going?_

_Mickey: Eh...working. You finish your assignments after that debacle on Saturday?_

_Yev: Debacle? Fancy word! Yeah, all good. Maybe we can catch a game soon._

_Mickey: That’d be great. You end things with what’s-his-name?_

_Yev: Gross, Dad. Are you gonna start asking me about this shit now?_

_Mickey: Why not? Gotta keep the lines of communication open._

_Yev: Fine. Yes. We talked. We’re friends._

_Mickey: Ha! Friends. By the way, he didn’t call me. Big surprise._

_Yev: Yeah, cuz you threatened to kill him._

_Mickey: Did I? Don’t even remember what I said._

_Yev: There was Saturday. And that other time._

_Mickey: ??_

_Yev: You didn’t hear it from me, but apparently, you guys knew each other growing up._

_Mickey: Yeah, sure. Stop fucking around._

_Yev: No, seriously. He knows Aunt Mandy._

Mickey lifted his finger away from the phone. What the fuck was Yev talking about?

_Yev: I’m not making this up. Ian said you were after him because you thought he slept with Aunt Mandy, which is kinda funny since he was gay. And it’s even more funny because he did end up...you know..._

Long ago buried memories came rushing back to Mickey, and he had to steady himself against the counter. Could that red-headed fucker that he’d nearly pummeled just days before really be the same person as...

_Mickey: What’s his last name?_

_Yev: Gallagher. Why? Do you remember him now?_

Oh, yes. Mickey remembered him.

 _Gallagher._ Fuckin’ Ian Gallagher!

^^^^^^^^^^

What kind of a sick joke was the universe playing on Mickey? He hadn’t laid eyes on Ian Gallagher for more than two decades, and then there he was, after all this time, having a fling with his kid? God had a strange sense of humor.

Maybe this is where he was supposed to leave it alone, pretend that Yev had never told him about this connection, move on with his life and be there for Yev when he met someone new—and age appropriate—to care about.

Or maybe it was time to tell Yev the truth about why Mickey and Lana had split up and why he’d never remarried.

Or maybe there was a reason for all this, although why did Ian sleeping with Yev have to be the igniting force?

Still, Mickey found himself, unbeknownst to Yev, on the front of the library steps, like a bitch, hoping that Ian would actually be working and not immediately call campus security when he laid eyes on him.

Mickey took a deep breath and made his way inside. He passed by the coffee station and pushed through the large glass doors, his heart pounding in his chest at the prospect of coming face to face with Ian, wondering if he would see him with a different set of eyes now—not those of an enraged father but of someone who’d known Ian from the South Side.

He saw the flash of red hair and pale skin and the surprise in those green eyes. Why hadn’t Mickey recognized him a few days ago? Must have been his blind rage and the fact that Ian looked like a man now, instead of a damn kid.

Ian’s shoulders tensed as he reached into his back pocket—probably for this cell phone. Mickey was quick to reassure him.

“Relax,” he whispered. “I’m just here to talk.”

“Uh…” Ian looked behind him at the student worker who was oblivious to Mickey’s arrival, engrossed with something on his tablet. “You want to...talk? To me?”

“Well, yeah. Didn’t Yev tell you?” Mickey wasn’t going to lie, he was actually getting a kick out of scaring this guy. It brought back memories from the few times he’d tried to confront Ian about fucking his sister. Come to find out, Mandy was full of shit. But that was only after Mickey and his brothers had kicked the shit out of Lip Gallagher. Poor bastard.

“Um, yeah. Yev told me, and I decided to, uh...you know, move on...from the whole situation. Everyone can just go their separate ways.” Ian looked down at his hands nervously. Mickey wasn’t sure why he had that effect on Ian—the guy looked like he could take Mickey as he was in pretty good shape. He could, at the very least, outrun Mickey.

“Let me buy you a drink. Before we, uh, what did you say? Go our separate ways?”

Ian leaned into the counter and motioned for Mickey to come closer. “I think I’ll decline. I don’t feel like getting jumped by the Milkovich brothers. I’m too old for that shit.”

Mickey chuckled. “You can pick the place. Hell, let’s get a cup of coffee. This isn’t a trick. I want to talk to you about something.”

“I have to work until seven tonight. Let me think about it. You can understand, can’t you? We don’t have the best track record, you and me.”

“Fine. I get it.” Mickey held up his hands in the air. “Ball’s in your court though. I’m trying to be the nice guy and all. I didn’t say a word to anyone about you and Yev, and I’m pretty sure that would be grounds for some sort of disciplinary—”

“Okay, okay.” Ian sighed aloud, and someone in a far-off corner shushed him. He almost smiled. “Saturday afternoon. I’ll call you once I decide where. It’ll be a public place. A very public place. And you have to tell Yev.”

“Oh, you’re gonna tell me what I have to do? Really?”

“Shhhhhhhhhh!” The unidentified shusher was back at it again.

“Chill the fuck out!” Mickey shouted. Ian raised his eyebrows and gestured towards the door. “Go,” he mouthed, and Mickey fought an extreme urge to give him and anyone staring at them, the finger. But he obliged, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaving without incident.


	4. Ian

He’d suggested to Mickey that they meet at the Alibi, because what was better than a seedy bar with an abundance of watered-down booze when you were probably gonna get the crap beat out of you by a Milkovich?

Ian had spent most of his adult life trying to play it safe. Finish school, get a degree like his older brother, find a steady job and a steady partner. 

Caleb had pulled the rug out from under him by cheating, and Ian had already slipped up by getting involved with a younger man. Why not roll the dice on getting his neck broken by Yev’s unstable and thug-like father?

Maybe Ian wasn’t being fair. Mickey had sounded semi-reasonable when they’d chatted on the phone about where to meet up. Once Ian mentioned the Alibi, they realized they both knew Kevin and V. Mickey’s ex worked at a bar a few blocks away, so apparently, they’d engaged in some “friendly” competition over the years.

Their conversation had been brief, and Ian wondered what Mickey needed to discuss with him. An apology over the phone would have sufficed. Ian thought about whether he should apologize too, but for what? He hadn’t done anything wrong—perhaps unwise or out of character—but nothing like what Mickey had accused him of.

The night before they were supposed to meet, Ian got a call from his brother. Lip had moved out to California once he finished school and was making pretty decent money in the tech industry. He was always encouraging Ian to move out there with him.

“Mickey fuckin’ Milkovich?” Lip said the name with the same tone he’d used twenty years ago when he found out Mickey was on the prowl for Ian’s blood. “Why the fuck would you want to see him?”

Ian wasn’t sure how to answer, but he’d decided to keep his fling with Yev a secret. “Well, uh, funny thing. We sorta bumped into each other at the library...when he came to see his kid.” It wasn’t a total lie.

“Shit! He has a kid in college? Is Mickey still married to that Russian chick?”

“I think they’re divorced.”

“Why are you two gonna hang out?” asked Lip, still astonished.

“Old times’ sake, I guess.”

“How about you punch that fucker in his face for old times sake, and tell him that Lip said hello.”

Ian laughed. “I’ll think about it.”

“And tell Kev I’ll stop by and see him this summer.”

“Will do. You can stay at my place. There’s plenty of room now.”

“Thanks, Ian. Don’t be too broken-hearted about Caleb,” Lip said kindly. “You can do better.”

^^^^^^^^^^

Ian hadn’t texted Yev all week, nor had Yev stopped by the Circulation desk to say hello. 

Much to his relief, Ian hadn’t been as lonely as he had feared he would be. He wanted to reach out to Yev and thank him for the time they’d shared, but he also wanted to give him space—let Yev approach him if they were going to remain friends. 

He wasn’t too surprised when Yev finally came up to him that next Saturday afternoon at the library. Yev seemed happy and relaxed. His hair was pulled back but still slightly damp—he must have grabbed a shower after finishing his grounds maintenance shift. His face was clean shaven, and he was wearing a nice shirt and a decent-looking pair of jeans.

“Hey, Ian,” he said casually. 

“Hi. You look nice. Going out?” Ian tried to sound as nonchalant as he could, realizing that a small part of him, did, in fact, miss having someone like Yev around to care about.

“Yeah. I, uh, told the guys that I’m coming off a break-up. They’re taking me out for drinks to cheer me up.”

“Oh?” Ian assumed he was talking about them calling it quits, but he didn’t think Yev would have been all that upset about it. 

“Yeah, you know…” He had has hand on top of the counter but pulled it back by his side. 

Thank goodness, because Ian probably would have reached for it in another second or two. 

“Yep. I know,” Ian admitted, wanting to be kind but also feeling the similar sense of loss, however small it might be compared to other relationships that had ended. 

“Anyway, just came to tell you that I hope my dad isn’t a total asshole. I hear you’re meeting up tonight.”

Ian shrugged. “We are...it’s kinda strange. I mean, I guess we know some of the same people—from the old neighborhood. Should be interesting.”

“I hope he’s not gonna ask you about me. I don’t want him to worry.”

“I’m sure you’ll come up in the conversation. Seems like he cares about you a lot.”

“I feel like I can be more open with him now. Things are good.” Yev turned to leave. “So, I’ll see you around.”

“I’ll be here. Let me know if you need to talk. Okay, Yev?”

“Sure. Later, Ian.”

^^^^^^^^^^ 

The Alibi smelled about the same as Ian remembered—stale cigarettes, cheap beer, and broken dreams. Kevin Ball was standing in his usual spot, wiping a glass, and laughing it up with the regulars, just like he’d been doing for the past few decades. His hair had gray streaks running through it now, but he still had the same, stupid wide-mouth grin, and Ian remembered thinking that V was a lucky woman to have landed such a beefcake. He chuckled at the memory of walking in on Kev in his bedroom one afternoon, naked as a jaybird and then averting his eyes before Kev realized that Ian was studying every inch of his body. But that was a long time ago. 

“Well, look what the cat drug in! A Gallagher!” 

Everyone seated at the bar turned to around to stare at him, and Ian almost regretted picking this place. Fortunately, when the drunkards realized Ian wasn’t actually anyone of interest, they went back to staring at the widescreen television over the bar. Ian waited for Kevin to come around to the main area, and he greeted Ian with one of his famous bear hugs.

“Dude! It’s been too long! I still see Debs and Carl and Liam now and again. And V keeps up with Fiona, of course. What about you and Lip?” Kevin was beaming at him, like a proud father. He was definitely someone who always rooted for the Gallaghers to thrive, in spite of their shitty parental units. 

“Lip’s doing great, still loves Cali. He’ll be visiting this summer and wants to see you guys. I’m good, no complaints. How’s V? And uh, Gemma and Amy?”

“Shit, she’ll be sorry she missed you, but she went to visit the girls this weekend. They’ve had the hardest time being away from home. I hope it gets easier.”

“It will,” promised Ian. He’d seen plenty of homesick freshmen over the years.

“So, what’ll you have? It’s on the house.”

“Oh, thanks, Kev, just whatever’s on tap. I’m meeting someone.”

“A date? Do you have a date?”

Ian shook his head. “I’m meeting an old...acquaintance.”

“Shit, cuz I was sorry to hear about you and your husband. Fiona told V. That sucks.”

“Thanks, man. 

Kevin scratched his head. “Okay...well, sit wherever. I’ll get your drink. We’ll catch up, huh? After you and your, uh, acquaintance wrap it up.”

“Cool. Thanks, Kev.” Ian found an empty table for two and took a seat. While he waited, he scanned the room, remembering that all of this could be a giant ruse and maybe there were Milkoviches planted all over the bar, ready to jump him at a moment’s notice. When he didn’t see any, his thoughts turned to his father, Frank, and whether he would be making an appearance at his once favorite watering hole. According to Debbie, Frank was now spending the Chicago winters panhandling down in Florida and trying to mooch unsuccessfully off of Fiona, but maybe he was back by now. God, that’s just what Ian didn’t need during this very brief jaunt down memory lane. 

The door opened, and he knew it was Mickey coming inside before he even saw his face. Mickey just had this way about him, it all came rushing back when Ian laid eyes on him again—not only from their recent encounter, but because Ian remembered dodging behind buildings and alleyways trying to avoid his wrath. He had been like the faceless stalker in a bad dream that you thought you were safe from but kept popping back up. 

Ian gave him a half wave and motioned towards the empty chair across the table. Mickey raised an eyebrow at him. “Gallagher.”

The way he said Ian’s name caused a shiver to run down the back of his neck and spine. That voice, so very distinct. But those eyes—they were so familiar to him, freakishly familiar, since he’d just spent the past several weeks staring into a much younger version of them. _Fuck,_ he thought. _This can’t get any more bizarre._

Kevin was bringing Ian’s beer over to the table when he stopped suddenly at the sight of Mickey. 

“Get the fuck outta here! Mickey Milkovich?” Again, the regulars at the bar turned around to see what the commotion was about, and again, they looked extremely uninterested in Kev’s latest outburst. “How the fuck are you? I won’t ask about Lana, of course. But how’s Yevgeny?”

Ian was fairly certain that Mickey shot him a sideway glance at the mention of Yev.

“He’s good. Matter of fact, he’s in school at the college where Ian works. Right, buddy?” He clapped his hand over Ian’s shoulder and startled him.

“Uh, yeah.”

“That’s great!” Kevin sounded genuinely thrilled. “If Yev ever needs anything, he’s got a fellow Southie on campus." He patted Ian's shoulder.

“True.” Mickey nodded enthusiastically. “So, Kev, lemme get what he’s having.”

“Why, of course. I’ll be right back.”

Mickey took the seat across from Ian. “Didn’t think you’d show," he admitted.

“Me either. But I’m glad I could be here so you could lord it over my head, you know, about me and Yev.” Ian had a scowl plastered across his face as he took a sip of his beer.

Mickey chuckled. “Better to laugh about it, no? I mean, what are the chances? At least we can be civil about the whole thing.”

“Yeah, civil. So...let’s get on with it.”

“Damn, Gallagher. Buy a guy a drink first.” 

Right on cue, a smiling Kevin brought Mickey’s beer over. “You guys…”

“Is he high or something?” asked Mickey when Kevin was out of earshot.

“No, just happy, I guess.” Ian was starting to get antsy. Why was Mickey being so chatty and...pleasant? He took a longer sip of his beer. “What’s new since I last saw you?”

Mickey picked up his pint glass and practically drained the contents in a matter of seconds. “I’ll have another, barkeep,” he called out. “Nothing major,” Mickey said, turning his focus back to Ian. “Work, more work, talked to Yev. Stopped by the house where I grew up to check on my dad. Ungrateful fuck.”

 _Terry Milkovich is still alive? Good God._ Ian remembered hearing stories about Terry and how nobody dared ring his doorbell on Halloween. Instead of candy, you’d get shot. “How about Mandy? Is she still around?”

“She lives in Indiana. Has two kids. Divorced. I’m guessing you’re not Facebook friends?”

Ian shook his head. “I left for school right around the time she unleashed you and your brothers on me, though I never touched her.”

“'Course you didn’t. She told me eventually.”

“It was too late for Lip.” Ian remembered getting a frantic phone call from Fiona just after he’d arrived at school. Lip ended up in the emergency room for a few hours, needing stitches.

“Eh, he lived.”

Before Ian could respond, Kevin arrived at the table with two more beers. “Enjoy!”

“Thanks,” muttered Ian. He wasn’t sure if he could sit through another beer, recalling how shitty Mickey had been towards him and his family. Yev, or no Yev, this wasn’t worth it. 

Mickey must have sensed that Ian wasn’t entirely thrilled with their conversation. “Look, it was nice of you to show up. I didn’t really explain much over the phone, but I needed to talk to someone.”

Ian straightened in his chair. Mickey’s tone had changed suddenly. He was almost human, and for the first time since he’d reappeared in Ian’s life, he could see how the years had changed Mickey. His eyes seemed tired, and his shoulders slumped forward, as if admitting defeat. The tattoos that he used to proudly display on his knuckles needed touching up, if they were meant to be as intimidating and loud as Mickey had once intended them.

Mickey spoke barely above a whisper, glancing around the room as he opened his mouth and released two words that had probably been pent up inside of him with nowhere to go for too long. 

“I’m gay.”

“Um, pardon?” Ian heard what he’d said, but he wanted to be sure his ears weren’t playing tricks on him. Or what if Mickey was kidding around—trying to break the tension in a weird way.

“God, don’t make me repeat it.” Mickey put his hands in his face and groaned. 

“Okay.” Ian leaned over the table. “Did you just say you’re gay?”

“That’s what I said.”

 _Wow._ Based on his expression, a mix of fear and hope, and the way Mickey was wringing his hands, Ian concluded that Mickey wasn’t joking. This was a very important moment for him.

“Hey,” the redhead replied gently. “It’s not the worst thing in the world.” Ian was tempted to pull Mickey’s hands back to the table and tell him everything would be okay.

“Yeah, I know. I just haven’t said it out loud before.”

“Really? So what made you decide…” Ian’s voice trailed off. It didn’t matter, he didn’t need to know. He wanted to try to be supportive because he’d been there before. Years ago, but still.   

“I gotta tell my kid, you know, so I thought I’d practice on you. And I’m afraid Yev will blame me...for being what he is...and I’m not ready to be out, you know.” Mickey looked distressed, not quite on the verge of crying but definitely panicked. 

“Hey,” said Ian soothingly. “I know it’s not my place. And I’m probably the last person you want to hear this from, but Yev’s a great person. He has a good heart, and he’s proud of who he is and where he comes from.”

Ian paused to let Mickey respond, and he found himself marveling at this situation, how someone he thought he knew, turned out to be someone completely different. 

“If there’s anything I can do…” Ian reached for his hand, but Mickey jerked it away. 

He stood up abruptly. “Gonna pay for my drinks and hit the hay. Thanks for listening and all.”

“Mickey…” Ian stood up too. “I got this. Don’t worry about it. It’s the least I can do…”

“Yeah...after nailing my kid…”

God, his fling with Yev was going to continue to be a punchline. But he let it go, watching Mickey walk out of the Alibi. 

Kev came over to the table a few minutes later. “You sure that wasn’t a date?”

“Yeah...I’m sure.”


	5. Mickey

There was more that Mickey needed to tell Ian. But not in that place. At least he’d gotten one thing off his chest, the one thing that had been weighing on him for years.

Ian was actually the first person who’d ever known that Mickey might be gay, but it happened long before their recent conversation at the Alibi. It was clear that Ian didn’t remember the night he and Mickey had been together, years ago, at that awful club with the ridiculous sounding name. The _Fairy Tail._

Why would any self-respecting person go to a place with a name like that? Mickey had passed that shitty dive dozens of times when he was growing up, not knowing what it really was until he was about eleven. His brothers talked about going to “wail on the queers” and shake their “fudge-packin’ asses” down for cash. He’d laughed at their lewd comments but never actually gone with his brothers to accost anyone at the club.

It was almost twenty years ago, at the beginning of summer when Mandy happened to mention running into Ian Gallagher and that he was working at the _Fairy Tail_ —a surefire way for him to make some cash before he started college in the fall. _College._ Fucking Gallaghers, always trying to get out of the South Side, like they were better than everyone else.

 _Well, fuck it,_ Mickey had thought. He wanted to see Ian Gallagher in action. And why the fuck not? No one that Mickey knew would be at the club. He could go there as often as he wanted to, sit in a dark corner, and soak in the entertainment, so long as he paid the entrance fee, and bought a few drinks. If anyone tried to dance with him, he’d tell them to fuck off. After all, if Mickey was going to acknowledge this private thing about himself, he would do it on his terms and how it best suited him.

Mickey wasn’t sure how he should dress or what he should say once he got there. Would the bouncer take one look at him and send him away? _You’re not one of us. You don’t act like us, you don’t dress like us, you’ve never even kissed another man._

He thought about asking Mandy to go with him, thus killing two birds with one stone. He’d be out to someone at last, and she could help him pick out a decent shirt.

But she was horrible about keeping secrets, and this one had to remain private—if Mickey didn’t want to die a slow death at the hands of his father Terry.

It definitely helped that he had finished three or four beers when he got up the nerve to take the L over to the club. There wasn’t a line, maybe it was still early, and he didn’t have to pay a cover, maybe because he was under 45, and aside from a few whistles and stares, which may or may not have been directed at him, Mickey found a quiet spot where he had a decent view for people-watching.

He felt extremely self-conscious about his outfit choice—jeans and a black button up shirt, whereas the other patrons were either scantily clad or dressed to the nines. Mickey found himself staring at the couples who were dancing together, some who had probably just met, some who were sucking face, and some who were grinding their bodies together like the world was about to end. God, if his father ever walked into a place like this by accident, he’d probably have a heart attack.

Mickey started scanning the room, watching the dancers scattered throughout the dance area and on raised platforms. They were all bare chested with the tightest of shorts, shimmering fabrics of golds and silvers that left nothing to the imagnization. He was mesmerized by one dancer in particular, the way his lean body moved fluidly with the music, almost as though he was making love to the backbeat. As Mickey’s eyes traveled from his swaying pelvis to his glittering chest and then his face, he realized, dumbfounded, that the dancer was someone very familiar—the very person he’d come to see. Ian Gallagher.

Ian had grown up quite a bit since Mickey last laid eyes on him. His hair was slicked back and appeared darker under the flashing club lights. His eyes were rimmed with eyeliner, and he wore a sort of dazed expression.

Mickey wondered if Ian would recognize him. He slumped down in his seat, and didn’t dare go anywhere near him. For now, he was happy just to watch, sipping on a rum and coke he’d ordered and reveling in every giration, every bead of sweat that dripped down Ian’s perfect body, every twitch of his obviously large cock, as it strained against the fabric of his shorts. Mickey found himself growing harder and harder as the music continued, and Ian kept at it for several songs before the sight of his fluid dancing was interrupted by some old queen, salivating at the mouth and begging Ian for a lap dance.

Mickey watched, mouth agape, as the old fuck received a sensuous dance and afterwards, led Ian into the restroom. _Oh, disgusting,_ Mickey thought to himself, the illusion nearly broken. He considered leaving. What was the point of waiting around while Ian blew some Viagra-swallowing old fart?

He’d finish his drink and go, having seen what he came to see. Maybe he’d be back again, maybe not. Mickey looked at his watch—Ian and the old timer had been at it awhile. Then he saw the old fuck come out of the bathroom, but no Ian. A few more minutes passed and still, no Ian.

Mickey got up, threw some money on the table, and went over to the bathroom to see what might have happened. He went inside and looked around. There were three stalls with the doors shut but only one that was locked. “Hello,” he said, knocking on it. “Anyone in there?”

He waited a second and then knocked again. “Hey! You okay in there?”

“I’m...fine,” said a voice softly from the other side of the door. The voice sounded weak and strained.

“Hey! Open the door. I want to make sure you’re alright.”

Mickey heard the toilet flush and the door unlock. He opened it in time to catch Ian before he spilled to the floor. “What the fuck? What’d you take?”

Fortunately, Ian was still conscious, but his eyes were barely open under heavy lids. “Dunno. They gave me something when I started my shift. And that guy...gave me something. But he left after I started throwing up.” Ian laughed suddenly and opened his eyes wider. “Do I know you? Why are you here?”

“Oh, I...uh, was just concerned, thought something seemed strange with you.”

“Mickey? Is that you?” His eyes were open all the way now. “Mickey Milkovich? Are you here to fuck me up?”

Mickey had led Ian over to the sink and began splashing water on his face. “No, I’m just...here.”

“Fuck! Are you gay? No fuckin’ way!” Ian clapped his hand over his mouth in disbelief and fell back into Mickey, his eyes closing again.

“Buddy, wake the fuck up.” Mickey splashed more water on his face, and Ian seemed to be conscious again.  

Quickly assessing his options, Mickey decided to get Ian home and let his siblings deal with him. If he called 911 or dropped him at the ER, Ian could get arrested for whatever was in his system.

Mickey sat Ian down on a nearby chair and removed his own shirt, leaving him in his undershirt only, and began working the sleeves around Ian’s arms. He looked ridiculous in the too small shirt and tight shorts, but it was better than nothing. “Let’s get you home, Ian.”

“Sure thing, nice Mickey. You’re a lot nicer than the Mickey I remember. Are you his twin?” Ian pinched the fleshy part of Mickey’s cheek. “Am I dreaming?”

“Yeah, something like that,” said Mickey as he ushered Ian out of the club and hailed a cab. He figured he’d have enough money to get them to Ian’s place, and then he could walk back to his house.

Mickey gave the cabby the street name and a description of the house, but he couldn’t remember the number.

“2119,” blurted out Ian from the back seat, his head pressed against Mickey’s shoulder and his hands resting in the middle of his thigh.

God, Mickey felt sorry for this kid, and at the same time, he was strangely attracted to him, not just because of the way he’d seen him move at the club, but because he seemed genuinely sweet and in need of someone to take care of him. It sucked that he was mixed up in some stupid shit that he was too good for.

“We’re here. That’ll be twenty-three fifty,” said the cabby.

“I got this,” insisted Ian, reaching down into his shorts and pulling out some wadded up, sweaty bills.

Mickey took them reluctantly and found a twenty and a ten, pushing the remaining money back into Ian’s palm.

“Keep the change,” Mickey said, handing over the moist bills and shrugging innocently about their condition.

He got Ian out of the cab and waited for the driver to pull away before leading him to the front porch and up the stairs. “Tell your family what you took, and maybe lay off of that shit, huh?”

“Yeah, okay, nice Mickey. Whatever you say.”

Mickey helped him sit down and lean his back against the post. Before he turned to knock on the door, Ian grabbed the fabric of his undershirt, pulling him in for a sloppy thank-you kiss. Mickey wanted to pull away, cringing at the thought of what had recently been in Ian’s mouth and what had recently come out, but surprisingly, he had a sort of pleasant taste, like candy, and his lips were so soft and inviting.

Mickey found himself kissing Ian back, their lips melding together, and his stomach doing flips at the sensation of Ian moving closer to him. But then he realized he was no different from the perverts at the club who had been trying to take advantage of someone who was clearly out of his mind on drugs. He pulled away. 

“Mmmmm...nice Mickey’s a good kisser.”

“Yeah, uh...you too,” Mickey said, briefly touching his own lips but confused about what had just happened. “I better go. See ya later, Ian.”

“Bye,” said Ian, his eyes closed and his head resting against the post.

Mickey knocked as loud as he could on the door, then took off running into the shadows of the abandoned house next door. He waited until he heard the Gallagher door open, and a woman’s voice exclaimed, “Oh, fuck, Ian. Let’s get you inside!”

He breathed a sigh of relief. The kid was in good hands now.

But was Mickey safe? Was his secret safe? Shit, he’d have to make sure.

He waited until the next morning to pay a visit to the Gallagher house, more specifically, to Ian. He wouldn’t threaten him, per se, just emphasize how important it was for him to keep his mouth shut about the kiss they’d shared. But what was weighing equally on his mind was whether Ian was recovering okay from whatever he was on the previous night. Fuck, maybe he could talk Ian into finding another job, rather than debasing himself with a bunch of cum-hungry old perverts. Mickey wasn’t sure why he cared so much, but he did.

When he got to the house, he knocked on the door, remembering the previous night when he’d done the same. This time, he didn’t run away. No one came to the door. He tried again, pounding on it. Still, no one. He hoped that everything was okay.

Mickey left and returned the next day, early in the morning, though he hadn’t paid attention to the time when he’d rushed over to the Gallagher house.  

After a few minutes, the oldest Gallagher answered the door—Fiona.

“Yeah?” she asked him, one hand holding the front of her sweater together, and the other pushing her long wavy hair to the side. “What is it?”

“I’m looking for Ian,” he inquired.

“Aren’t you Mickey Milkovich?”

“Yeah. So?”

“You and Ian...aren’t really friends.” She yawned and gave him a curious look.

Shit, Mickey hadn’t planned on an interrogation. People didn’t usually ask him questions. “I, uh, just needed to ask him about something. Heard he finished military school. My, uh, cousin, is interested.”

“Okay.” She stared back at him suspiciously. “But he’s not here. Our uncle paid for him to go to rehab. Ian needs to get clean before he goes away to college. Do you want to leave your number? I can give it to him.”

“Well, I, uh...did he...I mean, has Ian mentioned seeing me? Like, recently?”

“Seeing you? Well, no. But he didn’t have much to say before rehab. Fuck, apparently, they’ve been dosing him at that stupid club where he was working. I don’t think he remembers too much of anything from the past few weeks.”

“Oh...that’s really shitty. I hope he’s okay. I mean, I think he and my sister talked sometimes.”

Fiona nodded. “Okay, then. I’m going back to bed. See ya.”

She closed the door as he lifted his hand in a half wave. Mickey figured it would be a while before he saw Ian Gallagher again.

^^^^^^^^^^

It didn’t take long for him to lose interest in the _Fairy Tail_. Ian was gone, and Mickey wasn’t exactly thrilled about the way they medicated their dancers. If Ian had been something more to him, he probably would have given the manager a piece of his mind.

After that kiss with Ian and all of the feelings he was having, Mickey wondered if he should now consider himself gay. He’d banged girls before and guys, but the dudes were all in juvie, where he didn’t have any other options and needed to establish his authority. God, his life would be easier if he just found some chick he could hang out with, maybe have an occasional hook-up. He could bring her to family parties and not have to worry about anyone questioning his manhood—not that they did, unless they were his older brothers or his louse of a father. But would that actually make him happy?

Mickey went looking for answers in the shitty dump where Svetlana bartended, having heard that if you asked for a “white Russian,” they’d actually take you into a back room, and you could get fucked by a white Russian. Lana must have been pulling double duty that night because she was the one who poured Mickey’s drink and then led him to a darkened space with a shabby cot.

Much to his surprise, Mickey enjoyed the random encounter with Lana because she bothered trying to figure out what he liked. And yes, it did involve her fingers up his ass while they fucked. And no, they didn’t use a condom.

A few months later, Lana tracked him down through his brothers with the news she was expecting his child and keeping it. She had some nerve with her illegal alien ass, demanding that he play a part in bankrolling the whole thing. In the end, it was cheaper to marry Lana than deal with her constant crap—illogical maybe, but from what Mickey had seen, married people didn’t have to be faithful to each other nor spend time together.

Terry was over the moon, the sick bastard. He was happy to have a grandchild, even though he’d been utter shit to his own children. And he’d paid for their shitshow of a wedding, also ecstatic to have a daughter-in-law who was willing to cook and clean.

Mickey figured Yev was his and never asked for a paternity test. Yev came out looking just like him, so what was the point?

For Yev’s sake, Mickey and Lana attempted to make things work between them, but it just didn’t. There was a divorce and the shared custody agreement—Mickey took his fatherhood duties very seriously. But he was done denying what he really wanted in a sexual partner—a cock.

In his free time, he turned to an online dating service that was really more for hook-ups than dating, and when he reached a certain level of loneliness, he’d find someone online who was willing to help him forget all about that, even if for just one night.

It was several years later when Mickey and his brothers opened their own car repair shop that Mickey met his first and only real boyfriend—Brad.

God, he hated Brad’s name, and he’d told him so. _You’re a fuckin’ douche, Brad_ , he would say. But Brad didn’t mind because he only trusted Mickey with repairing his precious Mustang. And soon, he was trusting Mickey to get him off, wherever was most convenient—in the smallish office at the shop, in the front seat of his Mustang, or in a shady motel of his choosing.

Brad was quite unhappily married to a woman he’d known since college. They had a couple of kids. Eventually, Brad started to hint that he would be willing to leave his wife and maybe he and Mickey could have an actual relationship instead of the occasional under-the-radar fuck.

But for Mickey, being in a committed relationship with another man was off the table. If he wasn’t just about fucking, he didn’t know how to exist in his own skin and definitely not in a relationship. Besides, Yev was twelve at the time, and he didn’t want him to have to deal with any shit that would come from people finding out his dad was gay. Mickey ended things with Brad and swore off getting close to anyone like that again.

Now he wanted to tell Yev the truth about who he was. Out of all the people in the world, maybe crossing paths with Ian at this juncture in his life meant something. He hadn’t thought about Ian in years, had almost grown bitter towards the memory of that kiss, wanting someone, however briefly, who didn’t want him back and was probably too good for him anyway. Ian didn’t remember the kiss, probably couldn’t, but dammit, it had meant something to Mickey. At one time it had meant something...


	6. Yev

Yev was anxious to hear about what his father had said to Ian, but he couldn’t ask either of them directly. For now, he was trying to give Ian some space, and his dad wouldn’t tell him a damn thing if he showed any interest.

 _Fuck, what did it matter, anyway?_ They could all move on with their lives. Ian could find someone closer to his age, some intellect to fall in love with, and Mickey could, well...do his Mickey things. As for Yev’s prospects, one of his suite-mates was working on setting him up with a friend of a friend. He trusted the guy enough to know it would be somebody decent. 

A date with someone his own age would be a nice change of pace. Plus, Yev needed to focus on passing all of his classes. He was in the home stretch of the semester and excited about doing more advanced courses his junior year. Mickey had offered to pay him a small salary to work in his shop over the summer, but Yev had decided to stay on campus and take classes during the summer session.

It was later in the week that he got a text from his dad. 

_Mickey: Can we talk? Maybe this weekend? Come over for breakfast on Sunday._

_Yev: Okay. What about?_

_Mickey: I have something I need to tell you._

_Yev: Oh for fuck’s sake, Dad. What is it now?_

_Mickey: It’s nothing bad. Relax._

_Yev: Fine. It’s not about me and Ian, is it? You did see him, right?_

_Mickey: Yeah. But no, it’s not about him...or you. It’s about me._

_Yev: Okay. I’ll come over to your place then._

_Mickey: Good. I’ll make waffles._

^^^^^^^^^^

Waffles? It must be something serious. Mickey hardly ever cooked, and Yev hadn’t minded it as a kid—going over to his dad’s and them ordering takeout for practically every meal. On Saturday evenings, Mickey would stay home, order pizza, and watch movies with Yev, instead of going out and getting smashed. They’d pass out in front of the television, and Mickey would get up early the next day and make waffles and say it was their time to talk about anything Yev wanted to. He could ask his dad about anything and everything—no topic was off limits—and that went both ways. 

Yev remembered one of their early conversations about sex and how difficult it had been for Mickey to answer his questions. The things Yev had wanted to know about weren’t covered in his sex education classes, and his father didn’t seem too keen on discussing them.

Most of their “heart-to-hearts” over waffles centered around baseball stats or comic books or stories about Mickey’s misdeeds as a child—all cautionary tales. 

Once Yev went away to boarding school, they pretty much stopped the ritual all together. On the rare occasion that Yev stayed over at his dad’s on a weekend, he preferred to sleep in or stay in his room and chat with friends online.

 _It’ll be nice to revisit our tradition again,_ thought Yev. He hoped that whatever his dad had to tell him wasn’t going to be earth-shattering.

^^^^^^^^^^

That Sunday morning, Yev entered his father’s one-story house and was met with the sounds of bacon sizzling and his father humming along with the radio. 

“Hey, Dad,” he called out from the front room, so as not to startle him. “I’m here.”

“Right on time. Come in!”

Yev walked into the small kitchen, and smiled to himself at the sight of his dad with a towel tucked into his waistband and his spatula positioned over the waffle iron, waiting for the light to come on, so he could lift it out before the waffle got too crispy.

“Almost finished with this first batch. I’ll make more if you want. Have a seat.”

The table was set with glasses of orange juice next to each plate. Yev appreciated his father making an effort to connect with him. He’d been realizing lately that maybe he no longer needed to fear, as he had many times over the years, that his father didn’t really love him. 

“You want coffee?”

“Sure. Thanks.” 

Mickey poured Yev a cup of coffee and handed it to him before carrying a plate of waffles over to the table. “Time to dig in.” 

Yev served both of them and passed the syrup to his dad once he’d drenched his own waffle. He could probably eat twice as many waffles now, compared to when he was a kid, and he savored that first bite as memories of lazy Sunday mornings with his dad came back to him. 

In between bites, Yev decided to bring up the topic of Mickey’s mysterious conversation with Ian. “I still want to know why you wanted to see him.”

Mickey finished chewing and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Wanted to catch up on old times.”

“Why? It’s not like you were friends.”

“Well...turns out, we have some things in common.”

“Yeah, you both know me,” grinned Yev.

“Sure. There’s that. But I’m talking about other things—growing up poor, having shitty parents...” Mickey paused and put his fork down. “And you know, being different...from the people around us…”

Yev took another bite, considering his father’s words. Maybe once you reached a certain age, there was a level of nostalgia that came with seeing an old acquaintance who knew you in a different time. _But wait. What did he mean by “different”?_

“You were a pretty typical Southie in your day. Still are,” noted Yev.

Mickey cleared his throat. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I’ve been waiting a long time to tell you this. If anyone deserves to know, it’s you.”

Yev looked at his father with concern. “What is it?”

“Son, ever since I can remember, I’ve been interested in...guys. Not women. Not your mom. I mean, I’ve been with women before, didn’t have much of a choice, but the truth of the matter is…”

Yev was taken aback by this piece of information, processing it, even as he spoke. “So...you’re gay? Like me? Like Mom?”

“I am.” Mickey nodded. “I’m gay. And I’m sorry for not telling you sooner.”  

Yev was quiet, unsure about how to react. So much had happened in the past few weeks. He was happy that his father finally felt liberated to share this information with him, but he also felt betrayed that it had taken him this long. If Mickey had said something sooner, Yev could have better understood why his father was always so guarded and stand-offish.

“Wait. Is that what you wanted to talk to Ian about? You told him first? Ian? My ex?”

“Yeah, I mean...I needed to say it out loud. I came out to Ian before, in a way, a long time ago, when we were younger. He doesn’t remember—he was too doped up on drugs at the time.”

“What the fuck?” Yev pushed away from the table, his voice growing louder. “You and Ian were together...before?”

Mickey shook his head. “No, no. It was nothing like that. It was one night, and I didn’t—”

“Holy fuck!” Yev stood up and threw his napkin on the table. “You’re gay, and you and Ian have a past? My Ian?”

“Calm down, Yev.” Mickey stood up too. “I’m not explaining this very well. It’s not like that. And besides, he’s not _your_ Ian.”

“You know what I mean!” Yev yelled. “Jesus! This is too fuckin’ weird!” He started towards the front door. 

“Yev!” Mickey followed him. “I didn’t mean to bring up Ian. None of that matters. I just needed to be able to tell _you_ about who I am.” Tears were forming in his eyes, and Yev wanted to hear him out, he really did, but he felt like he was going to be sick. 

“I need some air, Dad. Just...fuck, I’ll call you later. Okay?” He headed out the door, glancing over his shoulder at the man who felt like a stranger to him and at the same time, a man he felt closer to than ever before.

^^^^^^^^^^

Yev thought about going over to see his _мама_. To most people, she came across as cold and even more distant than Mickey. But she’d always been warm and kind to her one and only son, cheering him on with his studies, telling him stories of his family in Russia and how he’d inherited their intellect and ability to persevere. When he’d call her crying about some failed teenage romance (leaving out the part about the object of his affection being male), she would console him, gently, murmuring that everything would be alright. Поживём – увидим, she’d say. _You will live, you will see._ He’d never actually had to tell his mother that he was gay. She just knew, and she accepted him. There was no coming out moment with her. 

On the L ride back to the University, Yev tried to picture a younger version of his father trying to beat up a younger version of Ian for presumably deflowering his sister Mandy. That was the only part of their past Mickey or Ian had shared with him. How had that turned into anything meaningful enough for his father to open up about something so personal to Ian? 

Yev realized none of that mattered right now, considering how he’d left his dad in a very vulnerable state. Close to his dorm, there was a nicely landscaped area with a picnic table where Yev would sometimes study if the library got too crowded. He sat down and phoned his father. 

“Hey, Dad.”

“Yev! Are you okay?” Mickey sounded relieved. “I didn’t mean for our conversation to turn out like that.”

“Yeah, next time, can you drop one bombshell at a time?”

His dad laughed uncomfortably, and Yev could tell he was struggling with what to say next. 

“I’ve been thinking, Yev. I mean, you were right. Of course, I should have told you first—before anyone else. All these years, growing up...there you were, probably afraid to be true to yourself, and I sat silently, watching you struggle, when I could have been there for you.”

Yev could hear the anguish in his father’s voice and wanted to comfort him. “Dad, it’s okay. I don’t have a shitty father like you. I understand. Hell, you married Lana. I’m sure you didn’t want to, and I know it didn’t work out, but seems like you were willing to try…for my sake.”

“Hey, she’s the one who made the effort, she gets all the credit. We weren’t a good match from the start, but we made something great, you know. You.”

Yev smiled, but he was on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry I wasn’t as gracious to you when you came out.”

“Gracious? Let’s just remember how I tried to beat up the guy you were seeing, instead of trusting your judgment.”

“Right...Ian.” Yev sighed. “We gotta talk about Ian.”

“No we don’t. That’s not important right now,” Mickey insisted.

“Sure it is. You said you had something with him when you were younger. That was long before my time.”

“Yev, I misspoke.” His father paused, seemingly to gather his thoughts. “I want to tell you everything. No more secrets.”

”Okay.” Yev was more curious now than upset.

”Well...I was attracted to Ian, briefly. I helped him get home one night from a God awful job he had as a dancer at a gay club. He kissed me, just as a thank-you, and that was all. Like I told you, he has no memory of what happened that night. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Yev remembered his conversation with Ian from a few weeks ago. “He told me about that club. Said it was a really fucked up time for him. But Ian got himself together. You should talk to him about it.”

“No fuckin’ way. I’m done with all that. You were right to be upset about the situation. I’ve put you in an awkward position…”

“Dad...you’re a grown up. If you want to see Ian again, you should. I don’t care. I mean, yes, it’s awkward. But I’m not a child. Things happen for a reason, you know?”

“Yev…” said his father, trying to win the argument using his most fatherly voice.

“Dad…” Yev replied in the same paternalistic tone. 

Neither of them spoke for a few seconds until Mickey broke the silence.

“Will you come back again soon? For waffles. So we can talk more?”

“Sure I will.” Yev was still reeling from all of the new information, but he felt like the invisible walls around his relationship with his father had crumbled. “What do you think about a mutual coming out over Sunday dinner with Grandpa Milkovich?” he joked.

Mickey laughed heartily. “Fuck, he’d probably croak right then and there. Might not be a bad idea.”


	7. Ian

A few days after their conversation at the Alibi, Ian noticed his thoughts turning towards the older Milkovich. He wished they could have spoken longer. Ian was curious to know at what age did Mickey realize that he was gay. Had he known at a young age, or was it later on, after he’d gotten married and decided that the straight life wasn’t for him?

Ian wondered when Mickey would tell Yev and how he would take the news. Maybe having things out in the open would bring the father and son closer. Ian remembered Yev speaking often of his mother but not as much about his father. 

The younger Mikovich hadn’t come around the library lately. Ian purposefully passed by Yev’s favorite study spot a few times, wanting to check in with him, make sure he was okay, but it was empty every time. Summer would be right around the corner—Ian couldn’t remember if Yev was spending the break back home or in summer school.

It was the middle of the week when Ian got a text from Mickey. He had to admit it intrigued him, seeing the name come across his phone.  

_Mickey: Hey. I told Yev._

_Ian: That’s great. How did he react?_

_Mickey: Pretty well. But it got complicated._

_Ian: Oh? Why?_

_Mickey: Long story. Would like to tell you sometime._

_And I’d like to know,_ thought Ian, but he didn’t respond right away. Something was telling him to back off, to step back into his old life before another Milkovich re-entered it. After a few seconds, Mickey sent a follow-up message. 

_Mickey: For closure. I’d like to tell you._

Oh, sure. That made sense. _But still,_ wondered Ian, _what more closure did they need?_

_Ian: Okay. Should I call you?_

_Mickey: That’s fine. Might be better in person though. It’s about the Fairy Tail._

Ian gulped. The _Fairy Tail_? Oh God, what was Mickey going to tell him?

_Ian: Really? I can’t say I’m thrilled about remembering that place. But if it’s important. Meet at the Alibi again?_

_Mickey: Dunno, maybe it’s not fair to dredge up things from the past._

_Ian: Well, fuck. Now I want to know._

_Mickey: Okay, but let’s not meet at the Alibi. Kev is cool and all, but I don’t think he’d leave us alone the whole time._

_Ian: Good point. Where then?_

_Mickey: You ever been to Patsy’s Pies? We could meet there._

_Ian: That dumpy diner on Lincoln? My sister used to manage that place._

_Mickey: Really?! No fuckin’ way! I eat there all the time._

_Ian: I haven’t been there in years though. Neither has she. When?_

_Mickey: Friday night? 9pm?_

_Ian: Okay. See you then._

^^^^^^^^^^     

This wasn’t a date. Why did Ian suddenly care about how he looked? Why did he take the time to shower and shave and pick out something that he considered flattering—nothing over-the-top—but he did like the way this particular shirt fit him. 

It was just after seven o’clock, and Ian was ready for Mickey’s big reveal. With time to kill, he flopped down on his sofa and picked up a book he’d been wanting to start. He was a few chapters in when he heard his phone ding. It was a text from Mickey.

_Mickey: Can you come to my place instead of Patsy’s?_

Ian scratched his head. What was this about?

_Ian: Why the change of venue? Just curious._

_Mickey: It’s probably better if we talk in private._

_Ian: Okay..._

_Mickey: I have beer. And wine. Pick your poison._

_What the fuck?_ At this point, Ian was ready to get whatever this was over with. Okay, and he was curious as fuck. This Milkovich drama was far more interesting than anything that had happened lately in his life.

_Ian: Fine, but can we do this now?_

_Mickey: Sure, come on over._

^^^^^^^^^^

Ian plugged Mickey’s address into his GPS and followed the somewhat familiar route towards the old neighborhood. He knew it well enough, making the trip home for holiday dinners with his younger siblings who still occupied their childhood home, but he couldn’t remember this particularly street where Mickey lived. It was nice that Mickey had his own place now, having left Terry to fend for himself. 

Ian pulled up to the front of the house and instantly recognized it, realizing that the property was just a few blocks from the Gallagher compound. He remembered the elderly couple who used to live there and how they’d sit on their small front porch and wave to the elementary-aged kids as they walked to and from school.

Ian parked his car and hopped out, noticing the work that someone had put into fixing up the place—a quaint railing leading up the steps and a fresh coat of white paint on the trim against new forest green paint on the wood siding. The house had much more charm than where Ian was currently living.

As he climbed the stairs, he found himself admiring the neatly trimmed shrubs, the two wooden rockers on the left side of the porch, and a table with an ashtray between them. The right side had a sturdy-looking swing. Ian smiled, thinking about how nice it would be to sit out here with a friend or loved one and enjoy the night breeze and sounds of the city, ambulance sirens and all.

He rang the bell and waited patiently as he heard footsteps from inside. “Coming!” yelled out a familiar voice.

Mickey opened the door and gestured for Ian to come inside. “That was fast.” He was still wearing his work uniform, the quintessential “blue collar” shirt with his nickname “Mick” stitched in white cursive on a dark blue patch. He must have noticed Ian eyeing it. “Didn’t feel like changing,” Mickey explained.

“Oh, sure. I understand,” Ian mumbled, embarrassed that he’d been caught staring at Mickey. Still, he couldn’t deny that Mickey had aged nicely and seemed less anxious than when they’d met up at the Alibi. He also looked like he was in pretty good shape to be pushing forty.

Ian stepped inside and glanced around the room. The decor was minimal with a few family photos displayed on the wall leading into a kitchen. “You get to be your own boss, huh? Must be nice.”

“Yeah, it’s alright. Long hours, but it’s honest work. Kinda strange for us Milkoviches.” Mickey chuckled as he pointed towards the couch. “Have a seat.”

Ian nodded politely and sat down against the worn fabric, resting his back against the soft cushion. This was all so grown-up and civilized. He never would have pictured Mickey in these surroundings.

“Want something to drink?” Mickey asked him. 

Ian studied Mickey’s expression, still perplexed by why he’d been summoned. “Maybe. Guess it depends on what you’re going to tell me.”

“Eh, then you might as well have something. It’ll help you relax. I can tell you still don’t trust me. Probably think my brothers are gonna come out of the back room any minute and jump you.”

Ian laughed nervously, wanting to refute Mickey’s claim, but the thought might have crossed his mind once or twice on the drive over. “Okay, then. Wine sounds good. Whatever you have. I’m not particular.”

“Okay, be right back.”

Ian waited until he heard Mickey clanging around in the kitchen before he got up to inspect the pictures on the wall, most of them pictures of Yev over the years. There was a photo of him in a basketball uniform that caught Ian’s eye. The ball was leaving his finger tips, headed to the basket, and Yev was biting down on his lip with a look of determination in his eyes. _That’s Yev_ , thought Ian. He’d seen that expression before in many a Southie’s face.

Mickey came back into the room and handed Ian a glass of red wine. “Here you go.” He had a bottle of beer for himself and went over to the couch, plopping down and putting his feet up on the coffee table. Mickey patted the spot next to him. “I won’t bite.” 

Ian returned to his seat on the couch, and noticed that Mickey had turned a slight shade of red. “Fuck, that sounded lame,” the brunet admitted.

“No big deal. It’s not like you dimmed the lights and turned on soft music,” Ian offered.

“Well, fuck, guess I better call off the mariachi band.” They both laughed awkwardly, some of the tension melting away with the ease of their banter.    

“So?” asked Ian. “Do I have to guess what you wanted to talk about?”

“No. I told you already it had something to do with that club. The _Fairy Tail._ ” Mickey paused and looked at Ian, as though he was seeking permission to continue. Ian nodded.

“I went to see you once...when I heard you were dancing there.”

“You...what?” Ian nearly choked on his wine. He cleared his throat and set the glass down on the table. “Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“No, not just that.” Mickey grew quiet, almost unsure if he should continue. But Ian refused to lift his gaze until Mickey said more.

“Tell me then.”

“You scared the shit out of me that night...”

Ian racked his brain, trying to recall if he’d ever laid eyes on Mickey at the club. It was so long ago, and most of his memories from that summer were hazy. 

“I was trying to make as much money as possible that summer, but I wasn’t making the best choices. Did I try to give you a lap dance against your will, or something?”

Mickey gripped his beer bottle tightly. “No, we didn’t talk until…”

“Until what?” Ian cocked his head to the side, still uncertain about where Mickey was going with this. 

“Until I found you in the bathroom—high on something...and in and out of consciousness. I wasn’t sure if I should take you to the hospital or what…”

“Oh. Shit!” Ian was again searching the corners of his memory, but came up empty. “What happened? Did I snap out of it?”

“Eventually, I guess. I took you back to your house. And made sure someone was there to find you.” Mickey seemed to be watching Ian’s face, waiting for some kind of reaction or recognition about that night.

Ian could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He was slowly beginning to remember which night Mickey was referring to. His siblings had explained what happened to him later on. 

“Right,” Ian murmured quietly. “Fiona said they found me on the front porch. Someone had knocked on the door. That was my last night at the _Fairy Tail._ Lip went down there the next day to tell them I was quitting and to never contact me again. He and Fiona called my uncle and got me into rehab...” 

There were tears forming in his eyes, but he couldn’t look away from Mickey. “So...you’re the one who—”

“Hey,” Mickey said soothingly, grabbing ahold of Ian’s trembling hand. “I was in the right place at the right time, is all. I hated to see you like that. I’m glad...I’m glad that everything worked out. Look at you now.”

A tear slid down Ian’s cheek, and he moved his hand from Mickey’s grip to wipe it away. “Yeah...when I look back at that time, fuck, I was lost. And stupid…”

“You were a fuckin’ kid. You made a mistake.”

Ian didn’t like to think about what could have happened to him if he’d continued down that path. “Thank you for what you did, Mickey. I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, of course.”

Ian took a deep breath to compose himself. “I can’t help wondering though, why you wanted to tell me this?”

Mickey looked surprised by the question. “I guess I just...needed you to know...that I’m not some horrible guy. And besides, what are the odds, of you and my kid...and…”

“Yeah,” Ian nodded, agreeing it was some strange twist of fate that had brought them back together. Of course, he was glad Mickey had told him. It’s not like he wanted anything in return, just for Ian to know that he’d helped him out, once upon a time.

“Maybe...we can be...friends?” Ian immediately regretted making that suggestion. What a strange thing to say, considering the circumstances of how they’d been brought together. He didn’t wait for a reply. “Or not, because that would be extremely—”

“I’d like that.” Mickey said quickly, but then relented. “Maybe. You know, I’d have to ask Yev...”  

“Good idea.” Ian looked down at this watch, not wanting to overstay his welcome and remembering that it probably was better for all three of them for Ian to stay out of their lives. “I should get going. You’ve given me a lot to think about. That night—not my proudest moment.”

“It was fine. You were...fine…” Mickey took another swig of his beer before getting up and holding out his hand to take Ian’s empty glass. “You okay to drive?”

“Yeah. Definitely. Thanks for the wine. And for, you know...before.” Ian pushed himself up from the couch and started towards the door. 

“Sure. Uh...see ya later, Ian.”

“Bye, Mickey!” he shouted as he pushed through the door and descended the porch steps, his head spinning from their recent encounter, feelings of shame and embarrassment clouding this thoughts.

On his way home, Ian tried again to remember that night—Mickey at the _Fairy Tail_ or helping him onto his porch, or anything from that night, but there was nothing but a blank spot in his mind. But more perplexing to him was why Mickey had been at the club to see him? Was he there to mock Ian? No, then he wouldn’t have helped him get home. Maybe he needed a friend, or hell, maybe he was just trying to figure things out and needed a safe space? 

It wasn’t until the middle of the night, a few hours after Ian had finally fallen asleep that he had a dream about worried blue eyes staring down at him and soft lips against his. Ian woke up in a cold sweat, breathless from what he’d dreamed, and cursing himself for his sudden desire to text Mickey. He wanted to confirm what he’d remembered in his dream from that night, but _fuck_ , he realized, trying to reason with the nagging question inside his head— _is something happening between me and Mickey Milkovich?_


End file.
